Lewa was doing the dishes when “All of Me” by John Legend blared from her phone speaker. She barely paused to rinse the suds from her hands before rushing to answer. Only one person had that ringtone. It was Clinton, her boyfriend.
“Hey, my bliss.” His rich voice filtered through the speaker as his face came into view. soft smile played on his lips, and his eyes sparkled. Lewa felt a grin rise within her, but she only allowed a quiet smile to touch her lips.
“Hi, love. How are you?” she asked, taking in his familiar face. He looked well, as always. She, on the other hand, felt worn down. It had been a taxing day; her department was scrambling to meet the quarterly quota. She knew he’d notice the fatigue behind her hooded eyes.
“I’m doing well. But my bliss, you look tired. What’s wrong?”
“Just work. We're drowning in deadlines and running low on energy,” she said, already sinking into the couch.
“Sorry, babe.”
“Thanks. So, what about you? Any progress regarding your Are you still coming home in June?”
“That’s one of the reasons I called,” he began.
Lewa sighed. She already knew what was coming. News of another delay.
“It looks like the immigration office is backlogged. The approval might take longer. I thought of just coming home, but a colleague warned that it might void the process. So I have to wait. I’m sorry, my bliss. I know it’s been hard, but can you be a little more patient with me?” He pleaded.
Lewa sighed again, nodding.
“I’ve waited this long. What harm can a few more months do?” she said, her voice laced with sadness.
“Thank you. Thank you for your patience. Now, got any gist for me? Because I do and it’s hilarious,” he said, chuckling. Trying to lift her downcast mood.
Lewa shifted into a more comfortable position, brushing the ache aside. "I’m listening,” she said, smiling softly, watching the way his eyebrows bunched when he was excited.
The photo of Clinton taped beside her bed fluttered in the breeze.
Later, Lewa was having lunch with her best friends, Josephine and Chichi, at Taste&Bites. They had just sat down and were skimming the menu.
“Babes, should we go for yam and chicken peppersoup?” Josephine asked.
“I’m fine with anything,” Lewa replied, her voice flat. Her friends exchanged a look.
“I’ll pass on that,” Chichi said. “You know I don’t like pepper. I’ll just get fried rice and turkey.”
“Waiter!” Josephine called out and placed their orders. Then she turned to Lewa. “Okay, spill. You seem off.”
“Nothing, really. Just tired from work.” Lewa said, her voice still flat.
“Do you believe her?” Josephine asked, looking at Chichi.
Chichi shook her head. “Not one bit.”
“What’s really going on?” Chichi asked gently, reaching for Lewa’s hand.
Lewa sighed. Her voice quivered as she spoke. “Clinton called last week. I was so happy to hear from him. But... he said he wouldn’t be able to make it in June.”
“You’re joking. What's his excuse now?” Josephine asked, clearly irritated.
“It’s not an excuse. The immigration office is delayed. If he leaves now, he might lose his spot. I don’t want to be the reason that happens.”
“And you believe that?” Chichi asked, eyes narrowing. "You’ve been dating him for three years and haven’t met him once. What if he has a whole family over there?”
“He doesn’t. I’m sure. His aunt keeps pleading with me to be patient. And it’s true. Permanent residency is no easy process.” Lewa’s voice faltered, even as doubts crept in.
Josephine leaned forward. “How long will you keep waiting? You’ve had so many chances to walk away. So many men have come your way. You can’t keep your life on pause for someone you’ve never met.”
Lewa couldn’t argue. They were right in many ways. But how could she let go after three years of love and longing? She thought back to how it all began.
It was a Saturday. She had been heading out for shopping when she bumped into Mrs. Oby, her neighbor, struggling with a basket of groceries.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, ma. Let me help,” Lewa had said, quickly gathering the spilled items. “Please, can I help with one of the baskets?”
“Thank you, my dear, I have been struggling with this."* the older woman replied warmly.
As they walked to her flat, Lewa noticed a limp in her step. She would later learn about the accident that had claimed her husband and children and left her with that limp. There was no talk of her loss until much later. Lewa knew some silences carried too much pain to disturb.
Inside, the apartment was serene. It was furnished to a minimalist's taste and it was elegant.
“Please, set it on the dining table,” Mrs. Oby said. Lewa complied, then turned to leave.
“Wait. May I know your name?”
“I’m Tomilewa. Most call me Lewa.”
“I’m Mrs. Oby. If you’re free later, would you come by? I get a little lonely, and I’d love to talk.”
Lewa agreed. Something about the woman’s presence eased her own quiet anxieties.
That evening, they spoke of many things like Lewa’s career, Mrs. Oby’s grief, the silence of an empty home. Eventually, Clinton’s name came up. Her nephew, her heart. She asked Lewa if she had a boyfriend. When Lewa said no, Mrs. Oby gently suggested a meeting.
“He’s looking for a wife,” she said. “I know we just met, but I see something good in you. Please, give my nephew a chance”
Clinton called that very night. He met almost every of her specifications in a man. His voice was gentle, his laughter easy. Lewa felt herself falling before she even realized it.
Back in the present, Lewa shook herself from the memory.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore. Let’s enjoy our meal,” she said.
Her friends sighed and squeezed her shoulders.
June came in with a cool breeze. The birds were chirping harmoniously and the air smelt of freshness. But it somehow failed to soothe the pain in Lewa's heart. Lewa stood by her bed, staring at the photo of Clinton taped to the wall. Her fingers hovered near the tape. Maybe today was the day she would let go. Maybe love wasn’t enough to survive this kind of distance.
She touched the photo. Started to peel the tape.
It felt wrong.
Maybe tomorrow.
Lewa was binge-snacking, watching YOU—her comfort show. Her braids were tied in a loose bun; she looked how she felt. Sad. Her heart was torn because of the decision she knew she might eventually have to make. She loved Clinton. Even without meeting him. But, she was tired of the back and forth. She was tired of the delays that kept stopping them from seeing each other. But she wasn't ready to face the hurt that would come crashing if she let him go.
The doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone.
“Who’s there?” she called.
“Delivery for you, ma’am.” A man's voice replied.
“I didn’t order anything.” She paused at the door, not sure whether to open it.
“It’s from a Mr. Clinton Nnaji.”
Her heart raced. She flung the door open, and there he was witb a bouquet of white flowers in his hand.
“My bliss,” he said softly.
“Clinton?” Her voice trembled, afraid it was her mind playing tricks on her.
“Yes, my bliss. It’s me.” He responded, in that soft-spoken way that she had fallen in love with.
She launched into his arms, tears falling freely. The bouquet was crushed between them as they held each other tight.
“I’m sorry for making you wait so long. My permanent residency got approved earlier than i expected. I immediately had to book the next flight home. I’m sorry.”
Lewa could only nod, burying her face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent she had only imagined.
“Remember the flowers you said you loved? Well, your flowers are here, Lewa. And so am I. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she whispered, broken and whole all at once.
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